


Loving Him

by Muir_Wolf



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Non-Canon Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/pseuds/Muir_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to LotTL, where Martha doesn’t give her “getting out” speech.</p><p><i>So you, Martha Jones, you tell him goodbye and you ignore his sad eyes and you walk off the ship and let him slide out of your life.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Him

**Author's Note:**

> Doctor Who isn't mine, etc.

 

Your entire life you have worked harder and tried harder than anyone else you know. Your entire life you’ve tried to be the best—the best student, the best daughter, the best sister, the best friend. People expect a lot out of you, but that’s okay—you’re the responsible one, the smart one, the one who’s got her life together –who’s got her Plan with the capital “P.”

You weren’t planning on running off into the night with a man you barely knew, but it excited you and enthralled you and damn but you were tired of doing and being what everyone expects you to do and be.

So you spent your days running for your life and saving people and helping a man-who-isn’t-really-a-man, and who you’re falling desperately in love with. But you, Martha Jones, oh you don’t like to lie to yourself, and so you face facts, as hard as it may be.

It’s hard to stand in someone else’s shadow, and while you could bear being in his, you’ll never accept being second-best in his eyes, and no matter how hard you try or how desperately you work you know he’s not going to change his mind any time soon. And for a time it’s okay. For a time you’re willing to put up with the pain and the angst because the rush is fantastic and you’re helping people just like you always do but there’s more excitement and adrenaline and running and too many moons in skies with strange horizons.

It takes a year alone, a year home-but-not-home, with the world burning around you and screams rending the night and choices you have to make, weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one to catch you if you fall, to make you remember. Because you, Martha Jones, oh you are brilliant, and you’re used to being the best because you’ve always been the best, and if he can’t see it, is he really worth your time? You think not.

So you say goodbye, and it’s hard because you know he needs someone with him, but you remind yourself, firmly, that you are not a “someone.” You are Martha Jones, and if he wanted Martha Jones you’d stay, but only then.

But here’s the trick, Martha. You’ve forgotten that that year you spent on the burning rubble of the world, that year that you spent crawling over bodies and hiding from death and spreading your own hope and faith and love in that man, that year-that-never-was that makes life suddenly confusing and out-of-place—he lived that year, too. And while your fingers bled from climbing over the wreckage of ruined cities and your skin burned from the miles you hiked across plains and you reminded yourself of the million and one reasons why you could do this on your own, without him, or Jack, or anyone else to help— _could she do this?_ you’d scoffed, trying to harden yourself up as you tried to find your way around the mass grave in front of you—you’ve forgotten that he spent that same year, up on the ship, being tortured and watching Jack tortured and still finding the time to wonder if you were all right.

 _And not just for the sake of the world, Martha Jones._

But you don’t remember that a year can change a lot—a year can change anything, even if it really never-was, and you’ve forgotten that nothing but nothing is written in stone, and maybe you don’t realize that if a man can change the course of time itself, surely he can change his own mind? But you’ve been foolhardily devoted and painfully loyal and you’re ready for some devotion and loyalty to you, because no matter how brilliant he is, you’ve forgotten how good it feels for someone to think good things about you, and if nothing else you know, now, that you deserve something back.

So you, Martha Jones, you tell him goodbye and you ignore his sad eyes and you walk off the ship and let him slide out of your life.

And he lets you.

What you don’t know, Martha Jones, is that he isn’t watching you leave and thinking of that other girl that left him (accidentally) and he isn’t think about how much it hurt to say goodbye to her, and he isn’t thinking about her name or how brilliant she was or how the words “bad” and “wolf” fill him with the strong urge to stab himself repeatedly.

What you don’t know, Martha Jones, is that he’s watching you go and thinking about how much it hurts to watch you go and how brilliant you are, _Martha Jones_ , for saving the world, and how guilty he is for putting you through that—through all of it, because he didn’t see the world in flames but he can imagine how it was—and how, because of it, all of it, he has no right to ask you to stay. He’s thinking about going back and grabbing Jack and sharing a couple drinks with him, inevitable come-ons and all, because he’s pretty sure he can’t stand being alone right now, with all the things he didn’t realize until it was too late.

Oh, Martha Jones, what you don’t realize is that the man that you love, the man that you are walking away from, the man that isn’t calling you back no matter how much you want him to, what you don’t realize, Martha Jones, is that he loves you just as much as you love him—maybe twice as much with his two hearts, except he’s not ever going to be able to use that joke with you, Martha, because he’s staring at the closed TARDIS door and you’re opening the one to your mother’s house, and Martha Jones, you were just two ships passing in the night, two strangers that shared a kiss and a home and almost shared a life, and Martha Jones, you _are_ brilliant, so maybe, just before you shut your door, you’ll glance back and think that maybe you should give him your phone, so you can call him, or tell him why you’re leaving, or have there be something other than this silence and sad eyes.

Your neck is cold where your key used to hang, and you look down at the phone in your hand, and you wonder if you can do that, if you can put yourself out on the line one more time, but you’re already walking back, and then running, because maybe he’ll leave and you won’t ever see him again, and you _knowknowknow_ that you have to stop, but you throw open the door because Martha Jones, no matter what’s happened or whoever else there’s ever been, you’ve always been the best at loving him, and you’re used to being the best, aren’t you?

You look up at him, and he doesn’t look sad anymore, he looks surprised and delighted and maybe even a little hopeful, but you don’t notice the hopeful because you’re already glancing down, because this is hard enough, isn’t it? So you press the phone into his hands, and try to pretend that your own aren’t shaking, and smile up at him blindly. You tell him you’ll call him, and you will, because you don’t like to lie, Martha Jones, not even to yourself, so as you walk away you admit that maybe you won’t ever stop loving him, but you have to try. Because you aren’t “someone,” Martha Jones. _You deserve more_ and you know it.

Except he calls your name when you reach the doors, and you look at him, and you don’t realize it, Martha Jones, but this man that you love, he can be selfish, and he’s going to be selfish now, because he knows he has no right to ask you to stay, but he’s going to ask you anyway, because heartbreak is bad enough without two hearts being broken, and maybe, Martha Jones, maybe he’ll make you laugh with that someday, maybe you aren’t two ships passing but something else, maybe, Martha Jones, maybe you have the potential to be anything, because both of you are brilliant, and maybe you can be brilliant together, maybe you can be everything together.

So, Martha Jones, when he asks you, give him a chance, and when he tells you, half-stumbling over his words and fighting guilt and the urge to run from the mere chance at your rejection, because he _did_ drag you through hell, and you _have_ had a year to get over him, Martha Jones, when he asks you to stay, be firm, because you aren’t “someone,” and he should know that you know that, but when he tells you, Martha, that he loves you, with all of his two hearts, oh Martha Jones, give him his chance to be selfish and needy, and tell him you’ll stay, and tell him you always would’ve stayed if only you’d known that he’d wanted you to.

And Martha Jones, when he leans in and kisses you, know that he’s thinking about how beautiful you are and how brilliant you are and how many times in that year-that-never-was he’d thought about your other kiss, and how much he wants to hold you in his arms and never let you go. And you don’t like to lie, Martha Jones, even to yourself, so tell him why you were leaving and how much you love him back, and take care of him, Martha Jones, because you know how to love him, you’ve always known how to love him, you’ve been preparing for this all of your life. Because, Martha Jones, you’ve always liked to be the best, and no one can love him like you do.

 

  
_Finis_   


**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 24 September 2008


End file.
